His Eyes
by Ireland O'Reily
Summary: Rated to be safe (teeny bit of language, some kssing). My rant anbout why I love Spot, turned intot he love story I envisoned for me and him. One Shot, and my first printed fic, enjoy


Hello to all my adoring fans! *cue crickets* Okay...let's try again shall we? Hello to everyone bored enough to visit me! Disney own Newises, I'm not making money off any of this (as evidence by the dusty state of my wallet interior), I own myself...this is the first story I've ever written down, so no flames or I will post your comments and make fun of you. Enjoy... ~*~*~*~*!*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
My favorite thing was his eyes. They weren't normal eyes. They shone from his face like a cool ocean. Not our iron gray Atlantic, but like the exotic seas of the south. Their shade suspended between blue and green to blend as a piercing turquoise. His eyes were the whole life of his face, without them he never would have been as attractive as he was. They glowed and danced, changed from cerulean fire to blue ice in an instant, pierced a soul as surely as an arrow. They caught the light and they caught my breath in a single flash in my direction. His power, his mystique, was poured into those eyes.  
  
The first time we met, I remember I thought he was arrogant, unbearable even. I looked him over with the cool appraisal I entreat to all my new acquaintances and I nearly laughed out loud. He was several inches shorter than I, and rather skinny with gangly limbs and too-big hands. This was the feared leader of Brooklyn, the fear of the five boroughs? Surely not! This was a barnyard rooster, all strut and crow and dowdy feathers! Then he turned around.  
  
It was as if an invisible hand had squeezed tight around my heart. He oozed confidence and leadership with every breath. His presence made up for everything that his stance lacked. I would come to be familiar with the feeling that twined through the air when he was near. It was an almost tangible wave that rippled out from his person. He made people want to hear what he would say by little more than entering a room.  
  
I would come to know his features as well, the features that captured so many female hearts. The sharp chin, the tip-tilted nose, the well-formed mouth arranged in a cocky smirk. But at the moment of our meeting, I knew nothing beyond his eyes. They met mine with a practiced ease and suddenly I was falling through those bottomless Aegean orbs, forever trapped in him from that instant on. My position would prove to be an interesting one in the years to come. For one reason or another, we were usually locked in a senseless feud the original cause of which is forgotten by all. We seemed to live for nothing but to irritate each other to a point where Jack refused to let us in the same room. And yet, through the ages of declaring my disdain and frustration in the Brooklynite, I never managed to climb out of those eyes, but instead fell deeper, until I had fallen into love.  
  
~*~  
  
I was fifteen when Pockets, my best friend after Jack died in the harsh winter 1898. Half crazed with grief I left the city for no less than eighteen months, licking my wounds in the comfort of an unfamiliar location, where I could do so without interference well-meaning morons. When I finally returned in September of 1899, the world had turned upside down, and yet remained so much the same.  
  
The boys were all taller. Most were finally an inch or two above me, a fact which they enjoyed pointing out in the midst of our joyful reunion. But despite the shadows of manhood rapidly stealing the children I had grown up with, they were very much unchanged. Racetrack was always at his cards, Jack was our fearless leader, Mush was eager to hear my stories and tell some of his own with the sweet openness that defined him....the list goes on and on. But they were all stronger. I had heard of their strike of course, and was insanely jealous that I had missed it, but I had not estimated what effect it would have on the boys. They had all come away more grown up, more self-assured. They seemed to know that the system could be beat and that there was no reason to submit to it. The fires of life, absent in many others of our class, burned stronger then ever in my friends.  
  
Spot knew I was back months before I saw him again. He knows everything, and there is no use trying to change that...but he made no effort to see me, and I saw no sense in making the long crossing to his territory for what I assumed would only result in another discouraging fight.  
  
The truth was that I was scared to come face to face with him again. At the time of my flight it was becoming harder and harder to deny what I felt bubble up in my chest at the mere mention of his name. The burning hatred and burning desire for him mixed so painfully in my soul. I was not ready to deal with the game of wanting, not having again...nor was I looking to watch him with each week's trophy wench. I resolved to keep my distance, and was successful until Christmas, when I saw him at Medda's annual to-do.  
  
The strike had touched him as well, and in a positive way. The arrogance was all but gone, replaced merely with a deep-flowing confidence that required no flash and roar. He knew his own power, and had no desire to throw it around as he had in earlier years...at least not without good cause. He seemed taller too...  
  
We spoke briefly, without argument. It was a polite exchange, I'm not sure he knew how to deal with me anymore. We were both older, wiser, more mature. For whatever reason, our personalities did not clash so furiously any more. It was the first time in my memory that I had spoken to him without a single insult, a single sarcastic remark. He noticed it too, he felt the difference. When his arm-candy whisked him onto the dance floor, his eyes lingered on me, and I quickly ducked away, unwilling to watch him any longer.  
  
~*~  
  
Valentine's Day came too fast. I have always hated that particular holiday, mostly because it makes me feel so isolated no matter how many friends I surround myself with. There was an open party at Riordan's bar around the corner. Jack and Mush cajoled me into going, and promptly abandoned me the door, lost in the eyes of their dates for the evening. There was no solace in anything but the bottom of my whiskey glass. Had any of my friends been paying attention they would have known how seriously depressed I was becoming. I rarely drink, and never without good cause. But no one was watching...or so I thought.  
  
After two hours in that place, I could bear it no more. I ran from the bar and into the street leaving all their noise and gaiety behind. It was not till I reached the Bridge that I faltered. Snow swirled in the air around me, and my cheeks felt uncommonly icy, even for the frigid night. Touching them, I was shocked to find tears. Was I crying? The thought only plunged my mood further. I hated crying in public...but was this really public? The bridge was deserted. With a sigh, I sat on the rail, drawing my knees up to my chest and laying my cheek upon them, head turned so I could see the river. The river always calmed me, something about the way it whispered silent comfort...listening and not offering advice or encouragement, only solace.  
  
"Don't jump." Said a voice behind me, "I hear lots of people do that on Valentine's. Might as well wait 'till tomorrow night, save the harbor patrol the work of fishing out one more body tomorrow morning."  
  
I did not even have to look to know the speaker, "Leave me alone, Brooklyn." I said to the night sky, "I don't need the encouragement right now." I heard the scrape of a match and then the scent of burning tobacco, "That's disgusting." I informed him with the same deadpan tone.  
  
He leaned against the rail beside my feet exhaling a stream of vapor into the open air. "Maybe it is," he shrugged, "But makes a hell of a difference on a cold night." He offered it to me, and I shook my head. "I saw you leave the bar," he informed me.  
  
"What are you doing here, Spot? Don't you have to go play Prince Charming for some girl with all the intelligence of a fern?"  
  
He snorted ironically, "You making a comment about my choice of date?"  
  
I shook my head, "No. Nothing wrong with them at all...if you find shrubbery interesting."  
  
That time he really laughed. The sound warmed me better then any substance. He shook his head, "Actually I don't have a date this year," he informed me, "I wasn't figuring on settling for second best again."  
  
Finally I looked at him. He had grown so tall! It looked as though his growth spurt had finally caught him, he would even be taller then I was when I stood up. He had also filled into his frame with a muscular leanness that was quite attractive. I fought to keep my face neutral. "You've grown."  
  
He actually looked embarrassed, "Yeah, I guess. It's kind of strange actually; I don't think I'm used to the height yet."  
  
That made me smile, "You will. It's not too hard, has its advantages. For boys that is."  
  
"You don't seem to be suffering to badly from it."  
  
It was my turn to snort derisively, "I think it scares boys away."  
  
He looked at me intently, "I'm not scared." He sounded very serious.  
  
I felt my damned Irish skin heat up to what I'm sure was a fantastic crimson shade. Praying that the darkness concealed that fact, I tried to sound light, "So why are you really out here all alone, Spot?"  
  
"I told you. I wasn't settling for second best again this year...but the girl I wanted to ask has been avoiding me since Christmas."  
  
My heart palpitated painfully; I tried not to show any emotion. He was playing a game with me that was all. After all, wasn't our relationship forged in teasing each other? "Funny." I muttered, "Real funny, Spot."  
  
"Yeah it is isn't it?" His voice was steady...sincere. "I should have made an effort to find her instead of waiting for her to come to me. Pride I guess. But nothing's stopping me now..."  
  
I swung my feet off the railing angrily, "That is enough!" I growled, furious at him for kicking me when I was already down as he was doing now, "Just leave me..."  
  
I never finished. He grabbed me, pulling me close to him and pressed his lips against mine, and suddenly the world was all a cloud. Our breaths mingled; he tasted of nicotine and chocolate. My heart hammered so hard I was sure he could feel it and the Brooklyn Bridge seemed to slide from under me. If he had not been holding me to him I am sure I would have collapsed.  
  
I shoved away, frightened, angry, still sure that he was toying with me, "I refuse to be your next great conquest, Brooklyn!" I shouted, my hands shaking, "I already get enough heart-ache over you, I'm not dealing with that too!"  
  
I clapped my hand over my mouth, horrified that I had just admitted what I had been hiding for the better part of three years. My eyes darted to him, I expected him to laugh, but he didn't. He walked toward me, and gently, peeled my fingers from my face, "I don't want you to be a 'conquest', Ireland."  
  
I stared up into those eyes, feeling myself fall into them all over again, tumbling through the depths, and colliding with something unexpected. The emotion in his eyes was not the one he regarded all his girls with, it was deeper, truer. It was an exact reflection of what my heart thundered out every time I saw him. "Then what am I supposed to be?"  
  
He smiled...a true smile, unlike his trademark smirk, and cupped the side of my face in his hand. "Whatever you want," he whispered, "So long as you'll be mine too."  
  
I gasped, and he swiftly leaned down to kiss me again, and this time, I melted into him. I have never had such a kiss as that one, not before or since...it went deeper then mere physical pleasure. I sent the earth spinning from under my feet, and flooded my veins with sweetness and fire. I have never known such exquisite perfection.  
  
The snow fell around us, and the night grew colder by the minute, but we were miles away standing on the Milky Way, enraptured in the release and beauty of our exchange. And as far as I know...we are still up there, every time I look in those eyes.  
~*~  
  
Well that's all folks. My first printed fic. Not bad if I do say so myself. That was my pathetic attempt at giving myself a love life, and I actually like it a lot. Funny, it started out as a rant...you might be able to tell that by the way I ramble through it. Anyways, I don't care if you love it or hate it, or are a fellow Spot fan who wants to shoot me with poison darts. I feel a whole lot better having writ (yes it's a word) it. Just F.Y.I, I took the descriptions of Spot (tall and all that stuff) from his more recent photographs. He was short in '91 but he grew to be 6 0"...so there! Review please! ;) 


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